


hit

by madburymangler



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Euostrath's Descent
Genre: Alternate Universe, Casinos, Family Dynamics, Gambling, Love at First Sight, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Original Slash, Original Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madburymangler/pseuds/madburymangler
Summary: Iketasos wants to mix business with pleasure; fortunately, The Dealer has an idea.Meanwhile, Nyleein could use a night off, but like the city, he can never seem to sleep.They both end up hitting the jackpot.
Relationships: Hephaetus/Samara, Iketasos/Nyleein
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aconitumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aconitumi/gifts).



> Iketasos and Hephaetus belong to @larkspureee on Twitter, Samara to Jae, and Nyleein, Mantra, Kyvessin, and The Dealer to Danny, their DM.
> 
> All other characters contained within are my own.

_Honored Guest,_

_The Masquerade. 9:00. Come dressed to win._

_The Dealer_

* * *

To say that Nyleein does not feel himself in the ornate mask that perches, cold and shining, on the gentle slopes of his face would be to belabor the point. He so very rarely feels like himself anywhere, after all. Even his suit, though simple as per his explicit instructions, is luxurious in the hundred subtle ways that speak to wealth. He should be comfortable in the splendor, used to it, even.

Surprising no one, he is not.

"Cheer up, you old buzzkill." It's Kyvessin, looking the very definition of a refined gentleman save for the curl of a sly smirk at his mouth. "It's not as though _you're_ the one working, after all."

"No, I suppose not. Though _you're_ not the one who had to come along out of a sense of brotherly guilt, so we all have our crosses to bear."

Kyvessin only laughs, affable as he is, and for a single petulant moment, Nyleein wonders what he might have to do to drag him down into the depths of his own foul mood before continuing.

"I mean it, you know. What sort of man drags his poor brother to these events? All they do is promote vices and encourage false connections."

"Oh, woe is you to be dragged into a life of plenty. Sell your mask alone, little tiger, and you could live quite comfortably for at least a month." Kyvessin is teasing, always teasing, but there is undeniable truth in his words. "Besides, it's a new year. Wit is passé, or so I've heard, and I'll need the stubbornness of a bull if I want to get the job done."

He taps at Nyleein's forehead as though to indicate that despite his choice of animal, he knows what Nyleein really is. Nyleein only scowls. "I always knew you were a rat."

There is no arguing with him, though; Kyvessin is always right, and as far as families go, he could be far worse. That playful wickedness that marks him so thoroughly widens into a grin at Nyleein's expense, and even still, he loves his brother.

It sharpens into something far darker, however, when Kyvessin spots his quarry across the room.

"Avail yourself of Uncle's drinks," he says, adjusting the fit of his own mask. "I only need you to look pretty and act as my good luck charm."

With that, he is off, stalking through the party with enviable grace and charm, and Nyleein...

Well, Nyleein is already so very _bored._

* * *

Iketasos is hungry.

For once, this isn't entirely a metaphor. The Dealer may be proficient at many things, but catering to those with an appetite for anything other than wealth is not in their purview. Still, this is as good a place for a night of mingled business and pleasure as any - better, if tales of what await in the back rooms are to be believed - and when it comes to work, Iketasos finds that as long as they have a drink in one hand, they are rarely _too_ picky.

The same, however, cannot be said for their companion this evening.

"Is this why you're so skinny, Tasos?" Hephaetus squints down at them with the air of a man who is about to have entirely too little food and too much alcohol. "Honestly, I thought you were just picky."

"You are an embarrassment," they hiss, but this is merely a part of the game they play, Hephaetus loud and attention-grabbing so Iketasos looks even more refined by comparison. What eyes are left for the perfect party guest when their lumbering brother is eager to steal the show?

Working alone is more their style, but watching the seamless path of Hephaetus' hand as it darts out to grab a mini quiche from another mouse-masked server, they find that they could almost be persuaded to form this duo for real.

Almost.

"What are your plans tonight, _honored guest?"_ Heph asks, a crumb sticking the corner of his mouth. He is a study in contradictions, a hulking frame topped with an elaborate elk mask contrasted with a boyish manner and juvenile humor. Sometimes, even Iketasos can't tell how much of it is contrived. "I've seen one or two other foxes in the crowd, if interspecies dating isn't your thing."

They stop just shy of leveling him with the full force of their glare as they reach up to touch the snout of their mask. "My, aren't you funny tonight? Remind me why you came along again?"

He spreads his arms wide, knocking against the ear of their mask. "For the company, of course!"

They roll their eyes; still, they know all too well what Hephaetus truly means. Even if he can be an overprotective lout, it will be good to have him at their back. "Please, just let me work. I'm sure you can satisfy yourself with a tray of the appetizers or a particularly lovely body, as it were. Whatever gets you out of my sight the fastest."

"Bastard."

But they are ever so fond of each other. They make an odd family, a slender predator and imposing prey, but even as Hephaetus gravitates toward the craps tables, Iketasos would not trade him for the world.

"Would you like to be the shooter?" he asks, but Iketasos' eyes are already wandering. Certainly anonymity is the name of the game here, but among what must be more than a hundred patrons, all he sees are rabbits and butterflies, birds and mice. So little variety. So little to work with...

The patrons at their table cheer and groan, and with an affable smile, Hephaetus cuts his losses.

"Something tells me this will not be my game tonight."

That's fine by them. There is a certain logic that can be applied to craps, but in the end, there is no one to bluff, no one to fool. The results stand as they are: a matter of pure luck.

They're not exactly fond of leaving victory to chance.

Their gaze remains sharp as they scan the floor (" _Always looking for trouble,"_ Heph had once said, half-joking but not even a quarter wrong.), but each hidden face blends into the next, meaningless and bland in their luxurious uniformity.

"Nothing." They scowl. "How can there be nothing?"

And like a misheard answer to a prayer they had not yet uttered, a woman emerges, her sights set on the pair.

She too is a rabbit, though the elegance of her mask, tufted and mottled with care, a pleasantly rich brown that blends nicely with the deep red of her hair, causes Iketasos to forgive her this lack of originality. They are not looking for the brightest mind of the generation, after all; passably clever and pliant suits them far better.

But as she comes close enough for them to really observe her, they find that it is not them she has her eyes on. The desire in her gaze as she stares down Hephaetus is softer, quieter somehow than their own, but they recognize a woman on a mission when they see one.

"Brace yourself," they murmur, but they can see the beginnings of a flush crawling down his neck and realize they needn't have bothered.

"Did you know," she begins, her voice clear and nearly as strong as Heph's own. Iketasos suppresses a snort. "That you cut a very distinct figure, even from several tables and a small crowd away?"

Hephaetus chokes on nothing, and Iketasos does a very good job of answering for him while thumping his back. "He does have a certain... presence, doesn't he?"

This mystery woman turns her inquisitive gaze on them. Surprisingly, there is no change in her demeanor or interest as she does so; they decide they like her very much indeed. "Yes, though you yourself have your own charm. I do like your masks. Did you have to send for them specially? I didn't even decide to come until this morning, so I didn't have the opportunity to be as fanciful as I might have liked."

She barely breathes through any of that, yet Iketasos finds they are not put off by her chatter. By the looks of it, Hephaetus has fallen prey to her easy manner. Despite his jovial nature, he is a hard man to rattle, but he tracks the flurry of movement as she punctuates each point with an uncommon interest, mouth slightly agape.

"My brother is the ideas man. I simply execute." They watch the slight tension in her shoulders dissipate at the explanation of their bond with no small amount of satisfaction. "Though yours still holds its appeal. Isn't that right?"

The question is directed at Hephaetus, who shakes off the last of his stupor with a wide grin. "Oh, most definitely. You've a sense of style to rival our own, though I fear I've been remiss in not asking your name."

"Samara," she says, and Iketasos watches her spine straighten with the effort of restraining her overt interest. "And you?"

"Hephaetus, at your service." He sweeps himself into a jaunty little bow, one that makes Samara laugh. How nauseatingly cute. "And this is my sibling, Iketasos."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Once again, they are surprised to note that she means it.

"Ah, but it's a waste of The Dealer's fine facilities if we neglect the whole point of the evening." Hephaetus is both as thoughtful and as self-serving as ever: he can hardly sit still when his patience is at a maximum, much less now, and he has not yet forgotten why Iketasos wanted to be here to begin with. "We ought to move to a table. How do you feel about poker, Samara?"

Samara laugh, the sound rich and sweet, and Iketasos is glad that they are not the one she had decided to hunt. It would be a shame, they think, to dampen that indecorously wide smile. "It's not my worst game, if that's what you're asking, though I'm not certain I have the head for it. I think the dealer at the table I just left doesn't like my mask, either. She's very clever, but I try to have a sense of when I'm being mocked, you know."

That smile turns self-deprecating for a moment, but right as Heph puffs himself up to say something, she lifts her gaze and shrugs, eminently confident despite her words.

"Hephaetus could use some of that sense himself," they reply. "Now, what say we bother this dealer with our unsightly presence?"

Samara's grin shows far too many teeth; it is just the sort that Iketasos likes best. "Oh, I think we could be _friends."_

Hephaetus shoots them a mock glare as they part the milling guests to reach the table Samara had indicated, but they pay him little mind. They're too busy studying the dealer, her tiger mask of purest white and her dress of opalescent silvers. She is resplendent, their objective analysis determines.

But to Iketasos, beyond their reason and sensibilities, she only looks washed out.

They flash a pretty smile at a patron looking to grab an empty seat, disarming them so thoroughly that they hardly notice as Samara slides into the seat. Beside hers, there is only one chair; Hephaetus gives it up willingly.

"I'll play the role of your good luck charm," he says, his grin near-blinding.

"Whose?" they ask, lifting an eyebrow at the hand he's placed on the back of Samara's chair, his knuckles brushing her back.

"Oh, there's enough of me to go around."

As it turns out, that isn't strictly true. Iketasos does well enough - a straight, a flush, two full houses, and a four of a kind - and has the chips to match it. Samara, however... Her poker face could certainly use some work, even when her hand is decent.

"You're not being very good to me," she says, raising an eyebrow at Hephaetus. Strictly speaking, she could have done worse; she's only lost a few hundred. Still, she looks pointedly at Iketasos' veritable mountain, and they understand her point. "I thought good luck is supposed to _improve_ your winnings."

"From where I'm standing, he did an excellent job."

"Hush, you." She can't suppress her smile at his jab, though, nor its continued growth as Hephaetus slouches against her chair. "What's a lovely sort like you doing with your brother, anyway? You ought to be mingling, unless there's something I'm missing?"

Very unsubtle, but they can appreciate that she seems almost as excited to hear about their motivations for entering this den of iniquity as she does for the sole company of their brother. "Ah, but something tells me that Heph has finally managed to outstrip me in matters of taste. I'd be delighted to hear otherwise, though."

Instantly, she scans the room as the dealer in white calls for a new deck and chairs trade occupants. They do not look with her. Instead, they swap between watching the keen focus that transforms even the little he can see of her face and the slack softness in their brother's gaze.

 _Disgusting,_ they think, but they are ever so fond.

 _"Oh."_ Samara's voice has lowered to a purr, and despite their usual cynical outlook, they are intrigued. "I believe I spy a tiger on the prowl."

Regardless of how personally offensive they find that level of cheesiness, they turn to follow her gaze.

And they _look._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, a drink is a gamble all its own.
> 
> Iketasos wins an indulgence, a warning, and a secret

There are many reasons to envy the tiger, Nyleein thinks. It is a beast beholden to none, its claws kept sharp by the perpetual hunt. They are iconic, worthy of worship, and an equal rival to all that may challenge it. It is cunning, clever, social and solitary as instinct demands. It does not cave under adversity.

Mostly, though, he envies its status as an apex predator. There is nothing natural that it has to fear save death and disease; even then, it hunts on, unwavering in its biology.

Most days, he finds himself craving that level of surety.

Tonight, with a mask of gold obscuring the furrow of his brow, he feels that predation congeal in his spine, untouched. He is but a cat in a cage, and when his gaze swings to that which he cannot avoid, his hackles raise and he swallows a hiss.

The Dealer's hands are unerring in their motion, each card dealt with care, but Nyleein knows their eyes are trained firmly on him.

Their mouth is bare. Though their face is framed in golden luxury, the hood of their cobra mask ostentatious yet entirely fitting, their mouth is _bare._ Every twitch, every errant, uncontrolled thought... Nyleein should be able to read them.

They do not betray a thing.

Unbidden, his hand clenches into a fist as he throws himself to his feet and stalks the bar like a beast untamed. If he squeezes any harder, he will crack the Old Fashioned in his hand. Whiskey will soak into the plush carpeting, glass will stud the stools like savage stars, and he wants...

He sucks in a deep breath. What he _wants_ is to not play so obviously into his uncle's hands.

His eyes search hungrily for the fox mask he had spotted earlier, its wearer all elegant lines and calculating intent. A distraction is what he needs, and that fox is playing their part beautifully.

Still, as they too betray nothing, he prays that Kyvessin will finish with his work soon.

He does not know how much longer he can handle being trapped.

* * *

 _Oh,_ but Samara does have a good eye.

Hephaetus has followed their stares with a marked lack of subtlety, and when he takes in their prey of choice, he groans. "I should have known you'd pick someone who looks nearly as pretentious as you do."

"Would you like me out of your hair or not?" they hiss back, tone contrasted with the sweet smile on their face.

Hephaetus makes a face, child that he is, but with or without his agreement, Iketasos is out of their chair and on the move.

The tiger is no longer watching them; instead, he is coiled like a spring, clutching at his drink like a lifeline. There is something almost familiar in the fall of his hair, the color of earthenware and rich coffee. If they know him, it would not be wholly surprising, but they pray they do not in any way that matters.

It's far less fun that way.

Still, they will not go to him when he does not want them obviously. There is an art to this, one they have long ago perfected, and it will keep them dancing around him until his attention squarely back on them.

They stalk their prey carefully, a gentle touch and a honeyed smile more effective in their arsenal than blundering bluntness or aggression ever could be. Perhaps this opening gambit is obvious, but they turn sweet flattery on hawk with a shock of pink hair, far too eccentric for the old money crowd but perfect for grabbing attention.

"You dropped this," they say, voice low enough that he must lean in, and they produce a pocket square, one expertly nabbed from his person as he'd grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

He is charming enough on the surface, they find, but as they probe, it becomes more and more obvious that he is far too belligerent for their purposes. Hardly a question can be asked before his mouth twists in displeasure and his responses turn acidic.

He does not suit their purpose for tonight, so they leave him mid-conversation, both the happier for it.

When they glance behind them, the tiger faces them once more. Still, they do not go to him; whether it's out of a desire to make him wait or an unexplainable reluctance, they cannot - will not - say.

Instead, there is a woman with an owl mask, her dress a statement piece to rival Iketasos' own attire. There is banter, witty and quick and so subtle that they nearly miss the threads to pull at. It is like talking into a mirror, and Iketasos sees the moment where they assess each other as not worth the effort. For every secret they would pry loose, six more would spill free, and it is impossible to tell whether they would be hers or theirs.

Finally, there is no turning back. It is to the tiger, golden and bronzed, as perfect as any statue, that they must go.

As they approach, they watch him closely; so minutely that they can hardly tell but for the drop of his mouth, his eyes widen behind the mask with something almost like awe.

It's the response they have been waiting for, but Iketasos feels their breath catch in their throat. _Dangerous._

"Is the man behind the mask half so bold when he is out of it?" they ask as they slide onto the stool beside him. 

The tiger sputters. "What?"

"You've been eyeing me for quite some time now." They shrug. "Not that I mind. You seem... awfully familiar to me."

Seemingly recovered, he snorts. "That's a terrible line, you know."

He is much taller than them, even sitting as they are, so Iketasos tilts their face up and ensures he can see them clearly before leveling him with their most unimpressed stare. "Quite the cynic, aren't we? Not much for a night of revelry?"

"I-" He cuts himself off as they steal the glass in front of him and take a long sip, their lips covering the side he had sipped from. The taste is full-bodied, fruity, and demanding in equal measures. He flushes, and they grin, victorious. 

A man of taste.

The tiger clears his throat and signals the bartender for another drink. His hand tugs at his collar as though flushed, and Iketasos tracks the movement hungrily. "Do you always accost random strangers like this?"

"Only when they've been watching me so intently. It only seems polite to make introductions so you can ogle me with permission."

He gapes again, and this is a match that has come all too close to checkmate, except...

"I didn't know you were capable of making friends, Ny." The voice is smooth, rich, so very close to the tiger's but for the dry wit and confidence laced through it like barbed wire. "And here I thought you were going to spend your time on a half-drunk victory streak."

The voice's owner is lithe in a way that Iketasos knows belies a significant strength. His mask is like looking in a warped mirror: where theirs is luxuriant, tufted fur and a realistic snout coming together in something almost like the real thing, his is stylized, fox eyes seeming to grin as they stare into Iketasos' core. He is known to them, and Iketasos grins.

"Is that you, Kyvessin? Dear, that mask is hardly subtle."

"As though you're one to talk."

The tiger's gaze flicks between them as though trying to piece together how they might know each other. In their experience, Iketasos finds it's best not to let him draw his own conclusions. "I'm afraid I'm hardly dressed for a business dinner."

Kyvessin's mouth twitches in suppressed laughter; they are not subtle, but nor do they wish to be. "Ah, but you look lovely. Come, let's have a drink and let Nyleein got back to blackjack. Between you and me, he's far less fidgety when he has a game to play."

 _Nyleein._ The tiger's name is fitting, soft and strong in equal measure. A flush crawls down his neck to be so thoroughly called out, and Iketasos smiles. "Perhaps I'll see you later."

With a mumbled assent, he is off, and for someone so clearly embarrassed, he still strides with the confidence of a man who has never known a moment of doubt. _Fascinating._

Heedless of Iketasos' wandering thoughts, Kyvessin swings himself onto the empty stool. "How have you been doing since last we met? As I recall, you told dear Uncle that you weren't on their payroll, yet here you are. You must be charming, indeed."

Iketasos narrows their eyes. Kyvessin's tone is all friendly cheer, but they have seen the face beneath the mask enough to know the cold indifference that marks him so thoroughly. "You know me. Always something in the works. And you? Last I heard, you had no work to speak of, so it's good to see you out and about."

For a long moment, he does not respond, instead signaling for a drink from the bartender. He's waiting for them to crack first, they're sure, but he will have to wait a long time indeed for that. 

It's only when he gets his drink - a whiskey sour, they note - and takes a long sip that he speaks again. "What are you here to play for?"

They open their mouth, a premeditated response ripe on their tongue, but something about Kyvessin's heavy gaze stops them in their tracks. Honesty is not something easily won, but Iketasos finds they can't help but give it to him. "High stakes."

His grin is all teeth. "Then save that pretty smile for when you hit the jackpot."

He leaves no room for a response; he drains his glass with a flourish and stalks off, an elegant ghost ready to terrorize the gathering. Still, what Iketasos has garnered from his is permission, and he turns, ready to find this Nyleein once more.

Fate, however, has another visitor in store.

The dealer with the white tiger mask is back, and now that they are paying more attention, they note how similar it is to Nyleein's. Even the shape of her mouth is reminiscent, yet for the life of him, he cannot conjure that same draw.

She gestures to the bartender, and once again, they find they are presented with a drink.

"What is it?" they ask, one eyebrow raised. It's decidedly fruitier than they are used to, no bourbon in sight or smell.

"The Last Word," she says. "Why, what's your poison?"

"Not this," he replies simply. "My, I hadn't realized I was important enough to incur the watch of all The Dealer's staff."

"You're not." Her smile is jarringly similar to Kyvessin's, yet lacking in even his meager warmth. "Be careful with your bets tonight, Iketasos. Even you can't control the luck of the draw."

And she is gone, naught but a drink they do not want to mark her existence at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hit.

Nyleein is not a man of impatience. He calculates odds. formulates plans, reads people like books. He does not get caught in common traps or cave to common desires, and yet...

"Hit."

It isn't common practice to speak at the table, but the gleaming scales of the cobra that deals his card aren't exactly standard, either.

Around the table The Dealer goes, and, uncle or not, Nyleein finds he does not understand them in the least. But then, when can he be said to comprehend the motives of any of his family? Kyvessin had swooped in without a second thought, and even if _his_ charm fits the nameless fox far better than Nyleein's, he had still thought...

Well, even if he had tripped over his tongue in a manner quite unlike himself, he had thought there was a connection.

His gaze wanders back, heedless of the storm of his confusion swirling in his mind, and - _is that Mantra?_

Oh, his family is a strange one indeed.

* * *

With Kyvessin pleased and the white tiger gone, there is no further impediment to Iketasos' goal, and they luxuriate in the anticipation of the hunt for a moment longer before rising, drink in hand. They are not so egotistical as to think that all eyes are on them; the ones that matter are. Still, even with their connections and their exceptional luck, it is their charisma that allows them passage as they stalk toward the center table, the metallic sheen of their heels glinting dangerously in the light.

There is not a free space at The Dealer's table. The syrupy heaviness of their gaze persuades a particularly nervous-looking man that this should be otherwise, and they favor him with a smile not out of place on the face of a royal.

It is through divine luck that this seat happens to be just beside Nyleein.

His eyes are wide behind his mask as they sink delicately into their seat, and when they turn their perfectly poised smile onto him, it slips into something more genuine at the faint redness of his cheeks.

"Surely you didn't think I was going to let you slip away, did you?" they whisper, the words just for the two of them. "You are not the only hunter in this room."

Nyleein's surprise fades to something softer, his mouth hitching up in a rueful half-smile. "Hm. Your win, then."

"Hopefully that streak will continue. You certainly play with the big boys, don't you? If I weren't seeing your winnings for myself, I might have thought it was the family resemblance that earned you your spot at this table."

Nyleein pales at that. "The what?"

Iketasos arches a brow. "A jest. Only you look so very much like that poker dealer, the one with the mask almost like yours, and you seem so very close to dear Kyvessin. I promise I meant nothing by it. Besides, even if you did cheat your way to get here, it would hardly be the gravest sin done in this place."

Color returns to his face then, and Iketasos only has a moment to wonder what it is they've stumbled upon before he is rising himself, grabbing his empty glass and their full one as he shifts out of his chair.

"I was planning on drinking that, you know," they say, even if they weren't.

Nyleein only looks at them with an all too knowing stare before walking back toward the bar.

It's nice, being taken care of. They've always thought so, but he somehow makes the picture even prettier.

He returns with their drink of choice in hand, and they are surprised that he has remembered it. Even when charmed, there are few who care quite that much.

The Dealer has waited for Nyleein's return, and once more, they wonder what it is that ties this mysterious tiger to this den of thieves and liars, cheats and thugs. Once more, they wonder if it matters all that much, for just as they have ensnared him, he has unwittingly drawn them in with his soft gaze and his too clever hands. He is a winner, they think, and they like him for that all the more.

In all the times that Iketasos has been at The Dealer's table, they have rarely busted. In another casino, this might have had the patrons clamoring about cheating, demanding their money back with the entitlement that comes with the unwillingness to risk it all.

In this one, there has never been a drop of evidence to substantiate those claims, and the patrons know better than to kick up a fuss. After all, they aren't above a little trickery themselves.

The first card is a seven. Nyleein's is a jack.

"Hit," they say, their voices mingling as one.

Fourteen. Twenty.

"Hit," they say, and Nyleein motions to stand.

Twenty. Twenty. They are equal.

They both stand.

The Dealer has nineteen.

Again.

Eight. Three. A hit for both.

Sixteen. Thirteen. It is Iketasos' turn to retreat.

Sixteen. Twenty-one. Stand.

The Dealer has seventeen. It is a minor loss in the scheme of things, and they have always known how to pick their battles. Someone else does not, and they leave with the meager remnants of their winnings.

Again.

Ace. King. Hit.

Twenty. Eighteen. Stand and stand.

"Soft touch, are you?" Nyleein mutters, the hint of a grin on his face.

"Not me, though I'm not opposed to a soft hand every now and then." They grin, watch as he falters. He does not flush this time, and more's the pity, but they have won the round of this game as well.

The Dealer has eighteen. More's the pity for Nyleein, they suppose. Another person falls.

Again.

Seven. Queen.

"You certainly do draw quite the royal eye, don't you?"

Nyleein does not respond, but his mouth hitches up in the slightest of smiles.

They both hit.

Eleven. Twenty. Hit and stand.

Eighteen. Twenty. 

The Dealer has seventeen.

"You have an eye for the cards, don't you?" he murmurs, soft as a caress. They are the only two left in this round, and something about this sends threads of exhilaration to tangle at the base of Iketasos' spine. "Excellent."

Six. Five. Hit. Hit.

Sixteen. Twelve. Hit. Hit.

Nineteen. Twenty-two. 

Nyleein has busted.

"Better luck next time," they whisper. He has not lost much in the grand scheme of things, but they respect his desire to cut his losses. A smaller net gain is still a profit, after all.

"We'll see," he replies.

And then it is just Iketasos and The Dealer. That cobra mask glimmers threateningly, and they cannot seem to catch the eyes behind it.

King.

"A strong start."

They are too well-trained to jump, but they tilt their head back to see Nyleein standing just behind them, hands folded behind his back, his spine tugged into rigid alignment. "Glad you think so."

They hit.

It's the ace of hearts.

Blackjack.

The Dealer turns over their card. A seven, a six, and a king.

Bust.

Furious whispers begin, but Iketasos only rises, bows their head, and collects their chips.

"Congratulations," Nyleein says, and that slight note of awe in his voice has made this all worth it.

"Thank you." They step toward him and clasp his hand, the cool press of laminate all that separates them. "I'll be back in a moment. I find myself parched."

When they pull their hand away, the king of spades lies in Nyleein's grasp, tucked just out of sight.

"I'll be back," Iketasos says, and with that, they leave him standing by the table, mouth agape.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/akschoene)


End file.
